Soldiers of the Wasteland
by dollyrot
Summary: “Ace? It’s me.” CM Punk has grown weary of the New Breed, and decides to recruit some old friends of his to form a team to combat them in the war for dominance. Takes place after 20.03.07 episode of ECW.
1. Chapter 1

**Soldiers of the Wasteland**

**Title:** Soldiers of the Wasteland  
**Rating:** K+  
**Pairings:** You'll see.**  
Summary:** "Ace? It's me." CM Punk has grown weary of the New Breed, and decides to recruit some old friends of his to form a team to combat them in the war for dominance. Takes place after 20.03.07 episode of ECW.  
**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I don't own the WWE or any of the characters used. Wish I did, though, that would be awesome!  
**Note: **"Soldiers of the Wasteland" is a song by DragonForce.

**xxx**

"_Think about what the New Breed can do for you."_

Elijah Burke had uttered these words to him hours before, but inside he was still seething. Right now, he was driving his way back to his hotel room from the arena, but the traffic had slowed considerably and now he was waiting. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he eyed the traffic lights, silently urging them to change colour. He hadn't had a chance to work off his anger through a gym session or exercise. The silence of the car was getting to him, and making him think far too much.

How dare Elijah Burke think that he had any right to interfere in his life – in his matches? He didn't need his help, far from it, he was perfectly fine with the way he was. In fact, he was better than fine. He was on fire.

He didn't like Elijah Burke.

Just like he didn't particularly like Kevin Thorn.

Just like he didn't particularly like Matt Striker.

Just like he didn't particularly like Marcus Cor Von.

He didn't like the New Breed. He never had, and never would.

So how to get rid of them?

He could handle one at a time, possibly two if he was lucky, but the remaining two? It was doubtful. He was a decent wrestler, but he was no Superman. And what about Ariel? The tarot reading fortune teller could hardly be relied upon _not_ to interfere on her man's behalf. So, if were to ever plan on taking them out, he'd need reinforcements. People whom he loved, people whom he trusted. People whom he'd tagged with before, people whom he could rely on to get the job done. People whom he could count on to get rid of the New Breed, one and for frigging all.

The light changed colours, from red to green. He didn't care.

An idea had popped into his head. It was like a light bulb was sitting above his head, flashing brightly. Something so great, so _genius_, that he almost couldn't believe he'd come up with it. There were people out there, he'd remembered, who did fit the job description perfectly. There were people who he could count on to help him do this. Because he always could rely on them, no matter what happened. They'd always be there.

Guiltily he thought of the way they'd fallen out of touch over the past few months. He couldn't help it, being an ECW Extremist made him so _busy_. Calls had gone unanswered, voicemail messages left unreturned.

Someone behind him blasted on their horn.

The sound brought him back down to earth, and he hit 'accelerate' quickly, to avoid road wars from breaking out. The asshole. Didn't he realize he had better things to worry about?

The further he drove, the more excited about his idea he became. His idea was do-able. It could be done. All it would take would be some phone call, and perhaps plenty of pleading. He thought 'perhaps' because the only thing that worried him was their reactions. Would they do it? For him? He'd treated them pretty crappily over the past few months, only offering a simple text of 'congrats' when both had been signed to developmental deals.

It was a long shot, he thought.

But it was also worth a try.

He used his hands to direct his steering wheel to the left. He pulled up on the side of the road, and hurriedly pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. Their names were still in his contacts list somewhere, left untouched. They used to be a reminder of his past, and now they could be a part of his future. He found the first of their names, located under the letter 'A'. Pressing the green button on his phone, it started dialing the number.

He raised it to his ear, holding his breath. Waiting.

A confused voice answered… his number must've appeared on the screen as who was calling. "Hello?"

"Ace? It's me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Soldiers of the Wasteland**

**Title:** Soldiers of the Wasteland  
**Rating:** K+  
**Pairings:** You'll see.**  
Summary:** "Ace? It's me." CM Punk has grown weary of the New Breed, and decides to recruit some old friends of his to form a team to combat them in the war for dominance. Takes place after 20.03.07 episode of ECW.  
**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I don't own the WWE or any of the characters used. Wish I did, though, that would be awesome!  
**Note: **"Soldiers of the Wasteland" is a song by DragonForce.

**xxx**

"When's Colt getting here?"

The question came from across the room, where Ace was sitting. It was one week after his phone calls to the both of them. Now, they were at the ECW show, in his locker room, waiting for Colt Cabana to arrive. Punk was standing by the door, absent-mindedly pacing around the room as he was lost in his own thoughts. Ace was seated on the black leather sofa, arms folded, eyebrows burrowed in a knot.

Punk looked up, startled slightly.

"Colt?"

Ace just grunted his response. Clearly the term 'no hard feelings' was lost on him.

"He messaged me before, he's running late, but he should be here shortly."

Minutes passed, and still the awkwardness did not shift from the room. It was only when there was a knock on the door that Ace looked up. Punk opened it, and there he was. Colt Cabana.

It was like all of the oxygen had been evaporated from inside the room. The straight-edged Extremist's throat closed up as he stared at the two men whom were supposed to be his best friends, whom had helped him through the highs and the lows of his life and wrestling career. The men whom had trained him, tagged with him, fought with him. It was overwhelming, the emotions surrounding this meet-up. It had been awhile – far too long. And now, seeing them again? It was a bit scary. Yeah, scary. This was coming from the man who'd fought in ladder matches, iron-man matches… it came from a man who was bloodied, battered and bruised for a living. The irony.

"Hey."

That one word was all it took for Ace to finally blow up.

"Hey? That's all you can say? _Hey_? Hay is for horses, Punk, not for us. Were you even aware that we'd been signed to WWE or were you too wrapped up in furthering your own career? Were you too damn busy trying to impress Helmsley that you forgot about the people that were there for you first?" He took a deep breath, struggling to find the words that describe the emotions he was feeling; had been feeling for so long, "Damnit Punk, you want a favour from us and _hey_ is the only fucking thing you can say? Do you even realise how damn long it's been?"

"I couldn't forget."

"That's what I thought too. But apparently we were both wrong."

Punk gritted his teeth.

"2005."

Their eyes met. Anger flashed in Ace's eyes like fire. It was there for a brief moment, and then, it was gone; the tiniest of smiles was forming on his face.

"Maybe I underestimated you."

"Maybe you_ both_ did."

He eyed Colt, who hadn't said a word since entering the room. His silence was quite interesting, for Cabana was never usually one to keep his thoughts contained inside of him. Colt shook his head from side to side. "I'm not here to argue. I'm here to do a favour for a friend."

Ah, the voice of rationality. It was when Colt said that that Punk knew he'd made the right choice when calling upon these two for help. In the two or so years they'd been apart, they may have wrestled in different promotions, they may have wrestled in different tag teams, they may have been angry for losing touch… but their friendship was forever. Promotions closed, teams ended, and feelings faded, but the bonds that tied them together could never be cut it seemed. And more than anything, Punk was thankful for that; thankful for these two. That they could forgive and forget, forgive and forget that he'd been too busy trying to make a success out of himself to even spare a thought for the two of them; forgive and forget that he'd offered one measly text of congratulations when they finally achieved their life's goals; forgive and forget that he'd put himself first.

He deserved Ace's anger. He deserved Ace's abuse.

What he didn't deserve were friends like them.

"… I'm sorry."

He stared at his boots, shuffling his feet sheepishly. Perhaps words could never quite make amends for what he'd done, but they were a start. A new leaf. They could start right at the very beginning, or they could pick up right were they left off – as a team. As friends.

"You should be –" Ace started. However, a look from Colt shushed him.

"What is it that you want us to do, Punk?"

He turned to Colt. The man had his head cocked to the side in genuine curiousity. His Straight-Edged friend had never called them so out-of-the-blue, asking them to meet him somewhere without any kind of an explanation. Punk began pacing the room again, hands behind his back.

"I'll get straight into it then. But before I do, tell me, have you been watching ECW lately?"

They both nodded.

"Then surely you've taken note of the New Breed. How they're constantly harassing me, how they're constantly interfering in my matches _and_ my life. To put it really bluntly, I'm fucking sick of it. I want to get rid of them. I want them out of my matches. I want them out of my life. I want them out of ECW. And normally, I wouldn't ask for help. I'd say, '_hey, fuck you guys, I don't need shit from you_.' But this… this, I don't think I can do alone. There's too many of them. I'm man enough to admit that."

He cracked a smile.

"This is where you two come in. I need your help. I need your help exterminating them – _all five of them_. I don't care how it's done, whether it's done physically, mentally or even emotionally for fuck's sake. I just want them gone."

There was silence as Punk finished his speech. The ECW Extremist fell back onto the couch, sighing heavily. An answer was all he needed from them now. Colt Cabana and Ace Steele looked at each other, having a conversation with their eyes – they needed no words for this. Finally, Ace spoke.

"When and where do you need us?"

Punk grinned happily.

"We begin tonight."

The Second City Saints were back in action.


End file.
